


Acciacatura

by Aerlind



Series: Meleth [1]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: M/M, Though it is mainly Elrond/Lindir there are hints of Erestor/Glorfindel too
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-03
Updated: 2015-06-03
Packaged: 2018-04-02 16:30:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 18,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4066816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aerlind/pseuds/Aerlind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A story of how Lindir pines after his lord Elrond, and eventually manages to win his heart. Mild hints of Erestor/Glorfindel on the background.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Acciaccatura: An ornament note that is one half step or one whole step below a principal note and is sounded at the same time as the principal note, adding dissonance to a harmony.
> 
> This is my first fanfiction, actually written quite long time ago, but originally just posted to tumblr. Feedback is always welcome!

The fragility of heart is strange. Like the strings of the harp that he is plugging. The brunette Elf shakes his head. He is thinking too much, once again. He has the attention of the whole Hall of Fire, and he smiles nervously. Lindir is used to singing to a crowd, but in this particular crowd there should be today someone, who makes his heart beat a bit faster no matter how much he tries to shush it. He can see Erestor, the calm Councilor of Imladris, and Glorfindel, the mighty Balrog-slayer next to him. They are an extraordinary pair of friends; Erestor is calm, yet owns a poisoned tongue to those he dislikes – Glorfindel is as well calm, but speaks not of evil things without having a discomfort written all over his face, and prefers to fight with a sword in his hand. Overall, Erestor as the Chief Councilor is usually drowning to work, and therefore many see him not, and in case they did, he is so tired because of his work that few friendly words comes out of his mouth. Glorfindel has less work, and therefore more leisure time, and it makes him cheerful and merry company for many. Neither of those two is the one that makes Lindir fear that his voice will falter or his cheeks redden. He likes to pair those two up in his mind –not that Lindir would ever tell it to them. He respects them too much to try to push them together.

But no, it is not the Elf-maiden listening with eyes closed, or another, or Arwen, the beautiful daughter of the Lord of the Imladris. Neither the sons of the Lord pick his interest. His eyes wander, searching for the one that holds his heart, and holds it tight. But Lindir cannot find the dark mane braided out of the way, cannot see the familiar robe holding colours of blue, brown or purple. He cannot find the gentle eyes that seem to see everything. Though Lindir has figured out that perhaps the Elf would not show up today, his heart has traitorously held to that hope, and now the disappointment makes him feel miserable. Why would an Elf of high station, an Elf with loads of work to do, an Elf who has to look after an entire realm come to see a tiny Minstrel perform? The thought is bitter and sad. What would the Lord of Imladris, the High King of Noldor, ever see in him? No, Lindir repeatedly tells himself that his hope is lost, his loved one reserved for someone else. And his loved one’s heart would stay in the hands of that someone else that sailed so long time ago away.

After his performance is over, he moves to chat for a while with his fellow musicians, before excusing himself.

“I want to finish my song,” he says. He lies. Lindir wants nothing else but drown in his selfish sorrow. And leave he does, to his cold and lonely room that he has never cared to decorate more than with filled papers. Papers full of love, devotion, promised loyalty. Songs of admiration and compassion. The moon is the only source of light this night, and nowadays he leaves his room dark. Lindir has not seen Elrond for the whole day. It is rare that such happens. Usually he manages to spy him receiving council from Erestor about a thing or two or on the breakfast table. Today, his Lord has been gone.

Tired are the movements that are necessary to undress, and desperate is his clinging to the pillow and blanket. Once more he begins the torture, like every night: Lindir closes his eyes, and holds the pillow close, and he pretends it is someone, someone who loves him. Someone he has married, someone who holds him close, two strong arms keeping him safe and warm. Even while imagining all this, he knows the harsh reality, and the result of that are once more tears. Elrond will never hold him like this. Elrond will never whisper to his ear how much he loves the little Elf. Little indeed! Lindir is small already when compared to Elves of average height, and the lord of Imladris is not of the average height. No, he is tall, and it does not good to the insecurities Lindir already has. Little Elf, small enough to be mistaken to be a child, light enough to fall when someone pats a bit strongly his back. Frustrated sobs leave his lips. Lord Elrond probably knows not even that he exists.

Oh! How horrible is that thought. Lord Elrond does know he exists: but he is the one who breaks the ancient vase, the one who breaks the plates, the Elf who always messes up everything!

Managing once more to make himself cry, Lindir muffles the sobs and tears to his pillow.

_Tomorrow I will see him._


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lindir tries to find out where his Lord had been, but ends up in quite a pickle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Acciaccatura: An ornament note that is one half step or one whole step below a principal note and is sounded at the same time as the principal note, adding dissonance to a harmony.
> 
> Feedback is always welcome!

The next day finds Lindir waking up early. It is not uncommon, not when the sun lights up his otherwise dark room and the birds start their cheerful songs. He spends a while listening to them, and hoping that maybe, just maybe, he would see his beloved Lord today. He brushes his hair, sorts out the slightly curling tips, and braids the whole mass of hair out of his way. He spends ridiculously much time in front of mirror just making sure he looks his best.

“How foolish,” Lindir thinks to himself, but cheks still his hair and clothes once more through. It is alright. How happy the thought of seeing Elrond makes him! With slightly nervous gestures he opens the door and begins his walk to the dining hall, his pace close to running. It is large, meant for all citizens of Imladris to dine together. He likes it, for no one is alone there. Lindir fetches an apple, for he really has no real hunger for food. That is why probably he is so thin and small. He never eats too much. He can see familiar faces on one part of the table, and goes to sit there, absentmindedly talking with the others. His attention is more on the other tables, his eyes ever searching for his Lord. But soon the apple has been eaten, the conversation done, his friends leaving –and he is required to go with them. Lindir has promised to accompany them, as they were supposed to take care of their instruments together. He has not seen Lord Elrond for the whole breakfast, and mentions it accidentally to his friends as well. His friends, not blind to his crush, know of everything already. They laugh, of course.  _Silly little crush_ , they like to call it.  _It will pass_. Lindir knows it will not. The only reason why he is not running through the corridors is that he has promised to help Erestor as well with his work – _nothing too important, just sorting out things and helping to clean his desk_ \- and that the Chief Councilor works very close to the Lord.

The morning goes quickly past with the repairing and cleaning of the instruments, and the little brunette Elf cannot wait to go help the Councilor with his work. Lindir admits to himself quietly that it is rather silly, but he is worried if something has happened, and so finds himself hurrying to Erestor’s office. He tries to conceal his obvious eagerness to see Elrond, but can’t help rising his head every time someone enters in: yet there is just more work for the Councilor every time. The workpile seems already quite respectable, but Erestor keeps occasionally chatting with Lindir while doing his work. Even Glorfindel pops to greet them at one point, bringing a glass of wine and grapes for Erestor. He seems rather embarrassed after noticing the little musician, though. Lindir asks all the time for new work, and Erestor gives –but he sees not Elrond for the whole time. When the sun starts to set, the Chief Councilor has run out of small work to give. Lindir begs for more work, but Erestor shakes his head, combing some raven strands back to behind his ears.

“It is time for you to go and have fun,” he insists. Lindir shakes his head.

“I—I don’t want to,” he answers, watching to his feet. “I’d rather work.”

“Lord Elrond is not coming out of his room today, Lindir.”

“W-What?”

The news startle Lindir greatly. First of all, something had to be going on if Lord of the Imladris would not go out of his room. Secondly, how had Erestor known he had been waiting for Elrond to come? A reddish hue starts to warm up his cheeks. Did Erestor know too?  
“He is sick, caught fever while riding outside few days ago,” Erestor says and smiles to Lindir, whose cheeks turns clearly red. Erestor knows.

“Perhaps I have after all a work for you to do. Go to the kitchen and ask for the herbal tea they promised for him. If he is sleeping, just leave the tea there. His fever is quite high, so he might be speaking gibberish or completely ignore you.”

Lindir could almost hug the kind Chief Councilor, but instead accepts the work as quickly as possible, and almost runs out of the office. Oh! The joy and happiness he feels as he carries the tray towards his Lord’s quarters. He has never been there inside before. Nervousness creates a too familiar twist in his stomach. What will it be like? Will Elrond be awake? This would be his chance to be noticed! No one else would be there. Only him and Elrond. Lindir’s hands shake a bit, and he has to take a better hold of the tray. There is the herbal tea, and something little to eat, just in case Elrond’s appetite would have come back. He would not fail this time, no. Nothing would end up broken. Carefully he knocks to the door, but receives no answer. Erestor had advised him to just go in if that would happen. It means that Elrond is sleeping. And yes, when he enters in to the room and closes the door behind, his Lord indeed is sleeping on the large, comfortable bed. The whole room is a bit messy, with clothes on the floor mixed with books and papers, and Lindir carefully makes his way to the nightstand next to the bed, placing the tray there. He can hear the beat of his heart in his ears, and he is fairly sure no noise would leave his mouth. The room smells stuffy, but…so much like Elrond. Blushing at that thought, Lindir looks at Elrond. His hair, so much like the colour of chestnuts, is messy and everywhere. The blanket is hugging his tall form, as if he’d be just a sweet little caterpillar. His poor Lord has a red nose, which makes him even cuter in the eyes of his admirer. He looks so peaceful. Lindir moves a bit closer to the bed, wanting so dearly to touch the hair, feel if it is smooth. He wants to caress Elrond’s cheek and find out if it is soft. Lindir’s heart is beating too fast. He has to leave. It is not  _proper_  for him to stay here anymore. He has done what he came to do. With a slight feeling of excitement, Lindir bows to give a kiss to the soft-looking cheek. Just once, this once he would give a kiss to his Lord, just this once he would feel how it feels like.  _Just this once_. Later he might regret it, but he wants so dearly to do it, even if Elrond will never know it. 

But as he bows to press his lips against the cheek, his Lord lets out a small uneasy noise, and moves his head so that Lindir finds not what he aimed for, but presses his lips against Elrond’s lips. With a small yelp he moves away, hastily trying to retreat: but oh! On the process his elbow knocks the herbal tea over to the floor, and the sharp noise of a glass breaking seems to echo in the room. Lindir stands for a moment still, completely still, and looks in terror to the shattered pieces of glass and the horrible splatter of the herbal liquid on the floor. Now panicking, the little Elf rushes out of the room, holding a hand over his lips, and running as fast as he is able to his own room. The noise of his heartbeats is deafening, and his cheeks resemble a tomato. Tears form more than quickly to his eyes.

He ruined everything.

He broke everything.

It is all gone.

_His eyes were open._

His Lord’s eyes were open when their lips met, when he broke the glass, when he messed the floor, when he fled from his crime.

_His Lord’s eyes were open and aware._


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lindir fears the consequences of his actions, but the consequences are so far...rather surprising.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Acciaccatura: An ornament note that is one half step or one whole step below a principal note and is sounded at the same time as the principal note, adding dissonance to a harmony.

“I dreamed of Celebrían.”

Erestor looks to his Lord, who still has quite high fever. He hopes dearly that the dream was not a nightmare. He knows that his Lord had had his share of those, having slept next to Elrond some nights. There was no relationship between them but of friends, but the Lord of Imladris had not wanted to sleep alone after his wife had left him.

“It is odd…” he hears Elrond’s voice fade slowly, and Erestor raises his gaze from the papers he came to report about.

“What is?” Erestor asks, putting the papers aside. To his greatest misery, this visit to Elrond that should have lessened his workpile, has created more: probably in his sleep, Elrond has knocked over the drink that should have helped him to heal, and so has ruined few important papers. Erestor should still during this night figure out the content of those papers, pray that they have had no important signatures, and then figure out what to do with them. He does not complain, but it is his third night without proper sleep due to work, and though he tries to keep up, the load is becoming every day bigger with his Lord’s absence. The only reason he has managed to eat today had been due to Lord Glorfindel’s insistance.

“It felt like she was here,” Elrond mutters silently, waking his Chief Councilor from his thoughts. “I…kissed her. Or she kissed me. I’m not sure…”

And for a while, his Lord muttered some incoherent explanation of not being sure which one actually did the kiss. Erestor feels like he is walking on an ice that might break any moment. Had the dream been good or bad?

“…but it felt so real. And her scent…it was different. “

Erestor looks back to his papers. Scent was different? The Councilor just hopes Elrond wants no interpretation of this dream, for he has none. Absolutely none. 

“And she became red when I answered the kiss. She never blushed. Why did she blush now?”

A sigh leaves Erestor’s lips. He has to remember his Lord has a high fever, and that this is most probably just a weird dream. Nothing else.

“It was only a dream, Elrond. I brought you a new herbal tea, drink it, and go back to sleep. I’ll take care of everything.”

With a nod, his lord obeys his command. Meanwhile Erestor wonders how he will survive the up-coming week with Elrond sick. He has to sleep and eat at certain times, but so far he sees no chance to do that. For a while Erestor stays next to Elrond, waiting that the other Elf would fall asleep, and so allowing himself some rest too. Still, after short few minutes he is once more walking down the corridor to his office, hungry, tired and stressed.

 

This very night is a nightmare to a certain other Elf. When the sun finally signals the beginning of morning, Lindir is reluctant to leave his bed. He has been sleeping extremely restlessly, managing to actually sleep only for few minutes before waking up again. He is scared of what will happen. Elrond knows he kissed--Lindir kissed him. The thought brings a bubbly feeling of happiness, but also dread of the future. Elrond would stay away from him now, would he not? He would not kick Lindir out, would he? Lindir is not invaluable to Imladris, he can be kicked out just fine, and no one would miss him. The little Elf gets up and brushes his hair with rather shaky hands. No, it would be fine. Elrond would not kick him out. But he should avoid Erestor just in case. Except that he had promised to help the Chief Councilor with his work. Again. A small frustrated sigh leaves his lips as he straightens the tangles and small curls away from his hair. Does Erestor know?

The breakfast feels awkward, for half the time Lindir is not listening, and when he tries, he is still looking warily around. Erestor comes not for breakfast, fortunately. Lindir cannot hide forever, however, and so finds himself knocking on Chief Councilor’s door soon. A very tired “come in” gives him permission to open the door, and Lindir finds an exhausted looking Erestor writing down something to a parchment. Only after the small Elf has stood there for several minutes, does the Councilor raise his head.

“Oh, Lindir.”

Erestor sounds like he has no idea who he is or what he is doing there. Lindir smiles to him a bit nervously, his legs feeling shaky. The silence stretches again. Does he know?

“Right. Uh, could you please take these to the cooks? And ask if Lord Glorfindel has written his report on…on…uh, stuff.”

Lindir stares to Erestor. He does not seem to know. At all. Or then the poor Chief Councilor is too exhausted to talk of such. Looking at the Elf, Lindir would rather bet on the last option. 

“Erestor, when have you last slept?” he asks very carefully, taking the tray that he is supposed to take to the cooks.

“I don’t know. Too much work!” comes the surprisingly angry answer. The annoyed expression on Erestor’s face soon erases itself, and the Elf just shakes his head. “Lindir, can you go check on Elrond once more? I do not think I can manage to visit him today. Take him some herbal tea again. Help him drink it and see that he goes to sleep. Don’t let him wander. Last night he had knocked over his drink, probably after you left, so…please.”

The request comes as a surprise to the small musician. It means that Erestor does not know. It means that Elrond still has high fever. It means that he gets to see Elrond again. And that he would get to look after his Lord with permission. Lindir smiles to Erestor nervously and nods. He should tell the other Elf to rest, but he dares not as there is an angry frown once more on the Councilor’s face as he inspects another paper and copies something from it to the parchment. Lindir leaves, taking the tray with him.

He would get to see his Lord tonight, and the best thing is that no one maybe knew of the secret kiss. It his, and his only, to treasure.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Acciaccatura: An ornament note that is one half step or one whole step below a principal note and is sounded at the same time as the principal note, adding dissonance to a harmony.

When evening finally falls, Lindir cannot conceal his excitement. He has not checked on Erestor, but while asking from Lord Glorfindel about the report – _which was about the border patrols, how strange that Erestor had forgotten such!_ \-  he does request Glorfindel to keep an eye on the overworking Chief Councilor. The thoughts of those two, however, leave his head as soon as he finds himself in front of his Lord’s door with a tray once more. He stays there for short moment, trying to gather his courage. There is no answer to his knock, so after swallowing nervously and looking around, Lindir enters the room once more. The setting is very same as before. The wonderful scent of his Lord is mixed with the stuffiness of air. Well, one could not open windows as long as Elrond has the high fever. Lindir walks closer, but freezes as the figure in the bed speaks.

“Erestor?”

His Lord’s voice is so soft, so tender, but very tired. He sounds extremely sick. Poor little Lord. ' _Little_ '.

“Erestor, it is weird. I haven’t dreamt of her for…years.”

Lindir opens his mouth to tell his Lord, who still laid in the bed with eyes closed, that he is not Erestor, but Elrond keeps on talking.

“It is odd. Why would I dream of her suddenly? Why would she kiss me, but move away when I try to answer?” his Lord questions. “It does not make sense. She was  _not_  shy. She did _not_  blush. Why did I see her here yesterday?”

Erestor, Elrond’s Chief Councilor, would have probably taken these questions as a sign of getting better, but Lindir feels horrible. What Elrond describes sounds like what he had done last night. Except, his Lord believes it had been Celebrían. Lindir closes his eyes for the briefest of seconds, and moves the tray to the nightstand.

“M-My Lord, I am afraid Erestor will not be coming today,” he informs very silently, heat rising to his cheeks. Elrond would notice him. Elrond would see him. “But though I know not of your dream, your fever is very high, and therefore it might have been caused by that.”

It is not like he knows of such, but it is what Lindir wishes that Elrond will think. It has been just a hallucination. He wants not Elrond to miss  _her_  now.  _Please, do not miss Celebrían. Please, do not think she is the one who kissed you._  Lindir hopes Elrond would know, but at the same time his heart is too afraid of being rejected to tell. The love between Elrond and Celebrían is strong. Passionate. He has seen their happy smiles. How they kiss and hold each other publicly. How devastatingly happy they were. How bad had the fall been for his Lord when his Lady had decided to sail.

“Who are you?”

The question pierces through his thoughts and somewhere deep inside. Who is he? Lindir forces a smile on his face. Elrond has not opened his eyes. This is cruel. Simply cruel twist of fate. Why is he not allowed Elrond’s attention for even slightest second, not at least once it being positive?

“Lindir, my--my Lord. Master Erestor asked me to bring your tea and some snacks,” Lindir stammers an answer, nervously hiding his hands behind his back. His Lord opens not his eyes yet.

“Tea. May I have it?” Elrond asks, and moves his hands towards Lindir. The small Elf resist the wish to press kisses to those hands and say it is all well, he would heal, he would have everything he wants. His Lord sounds so miserable, he looks so small in the big bed, and the fact that he opens not his eyes worries Lindir. Without saying or doing any of such, he just gives the herbal tea to Elrond, and waits that he drinks it. There is a rather strange expression on the Elf’s face as he drinks, but Lindir knows not what that means. Slowly the beautiful eyes open, but look not to him. They do not look at him at all, not when the drink is finished, not when the teacup is given back, not when he tells Elrond to sleep. The eyes close without seeing him. Lindir feels like crying. What is this? Is he too disgusting to look at? Is he too worthless to be gazed upon? With shaking hands, but not because of nervousness this time, he takes the tray, bids Elrond good night and exits the room.

Lord Elrond had not seen him. Even when there had been only the two of them, his Lord had not bestowed his attention to him. Lindir takes the tray back, but reports not back to Erestor. Instead he runs to his room and hides there. He knows no more how to feel about this all. Elrond thinks Celebrían came and kissed him. Elrond misses Celebrían. Elrond. Celebrían.  **Happiness**. Lindir moves in front of the mirror, leaning his head against it. It gives ironically dramatic feeling. As someone in a story would do. Why is it that in stories everyone find their perfect someone? Someone who leaves all others for the sake of the other. Why did Elrond and Celebrían have to meet ever? Lindir shakes his head, and moves farther away from the mirror. His brown hair, reaching to his chest, is beginning to curl once more from the edges. It is abnormally curly. He is small and thin. So disgustingly thin. He would like to be fatter. But he simply cannot eat more than he does usually. Lindir knows not why. He just can’t. With a furious shake of head, Lindir starts crying. What would his Lord ever see in him? Mistake him for a child, probably! He is not even worthy of Elrond’s attention! With a sob, Lindir goes to lay on his bed. The idea of breaking his mirror flashes through his mind, but he deems it only fitting for the dramatic atmosphere. He is not a character in a book. Smashing the mirror would mean he’d lose his mirror, there would be glass shards everywhere, and he would not feel any better. It is better to close eyes and try to sleep.

It is better to forget how much he has dedicated to Elrond, and how little his object of dedication knows of it.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lindir tries to sing away his sorrows, but it is not very successful. Elrond is being very dumb.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Acciaccatura: An ornament note that is one half step or one whole step below a principal note and is sounded at the same time as the principal note, adding dissonance to a harmony.

No matter how Lindir tries, the night brings him not sleep. His thoughts rest more and more on Elrond, his Lord. He already knows how this will end, but tries not to fight against it. It is better to let himself cry, let himself drown to his misery for a while. Oh! How many nights has he already done so. Any other Elf might go seek alcohol, but Lindir finds no remedy in such. Only once has he drank enough to actually vomit, and that was on the day his Lord and Lady married. How bitter the memory of that day is! He had been given the honour of playing the music for the happy pair. To sing a beautiful melody, touching, fleeting, enough invisible to not take the attention from the dancing Elves, but enough to emphasize the love.  _Honour_? That had been no honour, it had been a curse, a torture. How had he managed through that day, Lindir no more knows. How has he survived until now, he knows not. How he still has hope, he knows not! The presence of his Lord and being able to serve him in any way possible has been always enough. But now things are changing. It is no good. Lindir gets off the bed, cares not to put any more proper robe on top of his nightgown, and takes his harp. He would go play his harp to ease his mind.

The corridor is empty, as always. It is not surprising. Lindir’s bare feet are cold due to the snowstorm raging outside.  He likes summer more than winter. He passes Erestor’s office carefully, but is surprised to see the door completely open, and some of the papers scattered around. He peeks in, but there is nothing else to be perceived. The ink bottle has been left open though. Carefully, for Lindir knows how the Chief Councilor treasures his ink and other working equipments, he closes the lid and puts the feather to its place. It is rather strange, for to him it seems that Erestor had been in middle of writing. Maybe the Elf had gotten tired and left without thinking it through? He had after all called patrol report “ _stuff_ ” before. Lindir makes a note to investigate that when he feels less selfish. For now, however, he leaves the room, and heads to the large hall, where usually music and laughter are mixed together. Now the Hall of Fire is empty and haunting. Lindir sits to where performers usually reside, closes his eyes to shut off rest of the world, and starts playing his harp. He likes its melody, its beautiful voice. He prefers it over everything, but most of all over the violent noise of swords, bows or whatever weapon meant to kill. Slowly his mind remembers where to move his fingers, how to play the instrument, slowly it forgets the sorrow and hurt of the day. Though his singing is silent and rather sad, he lets it be, and pours away the feelings. He does not have to care for now if someone sees or hears. In this moment, music is the one keeping Lindir up and preventing him from giving up. It gives him hope.

Having sang his throat dry and as his fingers tire, Lindir reluctantly leaves his musical world, and opens his eyes to reality. And well! The reality crashes down with a yelp from his mouth, as there is a figure sitting on one of the benches. Someone has come to listen. The brown, long hair is on the way, for the Elf’s face is facing the floor, but Lindir cannot mistake the sleeping gown for anyone else’s. He has just seen it today. He stares at the Elf-Lord on the chair, who is obviously sleeping.  _How dare he!_  How dare he come to inflict more hurt! This act is another stab with a knife to Lindir. If he comes to listen to his songs, then at least he could say something, listen to the end, or at least notice him. The little Minstrel cries not, but moves slowly towards his Lord. The tears drop only after he has made sure Elrond actually is sleeping soundly with a small smile on his lips. Had he caused that smile? Or is it someone else’s accomplishment? Why is his Lord here? With trembling hands Lindir attempts to calm down, and instead takes a hold of his Lord’s hand, resisting the wish to kiss it.

“My Lord?” he calls, looking for any signs of the Elf-Lord waking up. And yes, indeed, there is the small batting of eyelashes, but the eyes focus not on him. 

“My Lord, you should be in your bed,” Lindir tries again. He follows intently as there is a blink, another, and the beautiful, half-closed, grey eyes look to his eyes. A small smile forms to Lindir’s lips, and he cannot stop it nor the reddening of his cheeks. As Elrond frowns, Lindir gets up and bows hastily, trying to hide his face.

“My Lord, you should return to your room.”

It seems that the silence following his words lingers in the air forever.  He hears the robe move against the chair, he can see from the corner of his eye his Lord get up from the chair.

“I heard a melody…” is the tired answer, and the voice reminds Lindir why his Lord should be in bed. It is miserable, exhausted voice. Lindir wants to tell his beloved Lord that it had been him singing, but cannot even start the sentence when he realizes that  _Elrond is walking away_. Lindir stays next to the chair, where Elrond had just been. His Lord walks out of the Hall, looking tired, troubled and absent-minded. And once more, the small musician curses his heart, and how painful it is to see Elrond’s back turned to him, how painful it is that his Lord still does not pay proper attention to him.

He would always be invisible.

Worthless of Elrond’s attention.

_How dare he!_

And the tears Lindir had managed to dry resurface, and he collapses next to the chair, burying his head to where Elrond had sat just minutes ago. And he cares not if someone hears his sobbing, for truly –what did it matter? Elrond notices him not. Elrond cares not! He had looked so happy while sleeping…and he had looked Lindir to eyes! And then---then he had just ignored him. It seems that eternity passes by before he manages to control himself once more. And no one comes.

No one hears.

He would always be, and stay, invisible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (In case anyone wonders, it was Glorfindel who took Erestor away from his work.)


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lindir has to bring the tray to Elrond for the third time. This time he has no illusions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Acciaccatura: An ornament note that is one half step or one whole step below a principal note and is sounded at the same time as the principal note, adding dissonance to a harmony.

The sun is bright.  _Very_  bright. A cough leaves Elrond’s dry throat. It is cold. His hand seeks the blankets, pulls them over. Nose feels stuffy. Brains feel full of snot.

Elrond has no complete memories of the few days. It has been several days since he heard the devastated melody in the night. He remembers little of that trip, as well. This is why he hates sometimes being only partly Elven.  He is able to get fever. And this has been no ordinary fever. Well, for now he is getting better, but he still feels terrible. He is able to concentrate already. Therefore the dream of the kiss haunts his mind, and it feels wrong to connect it to Celebrían somehow. Celebrían, his beloved, his  _lost_  one. A small groan of pain leaves his tired throat, and the Elf-Lord struggles to sit up. His head aches.  It should have been just a dream, but he can still remember the gentle press of the other’s lips on his, the quick retreat, the redness…and the scent. There had been something faintly familiar on it – _the woody smell of Erestor’s office, if he is not completely  senseless_ \- and still…something very pure. Clean. Yes, something clean. With shake of a head, Elrond decides to leave it be. His feverish hallucinations are just dreams. Nothing to take seriously. Yet he remembers having smelled the same scent near where the heartfelt music had been. And the red. Not crimson, as many other memories he could connect that colour to –and even thinking of it makes him feel sick and tired-, but red like…a rose. Or a tomato. Apple. With a frown Elrond smiles grimly to himself. Tomatoes and apples.

_He really needs rest._

 

These several days have been harder for a certain other Elf. Though Lindir has managed to sleep, he has not wandered anymore out on nights to play his harp. He wants not to meet and be abandoned by Elrond again. It is almost stupid. Instead he has taken care of occupying his thoughts with other things: the gossip of Imladris, cleaning of places, playing his instruments, and just generally helping around. He even had found Erestor, but the Chief Councilor had not explained what had happened that night too clearly. Only answer he got was that Erestor had felt necessary to leave. That did not explain the awkward atmosphere that had resided in the office, especially not when Glorfindel had entered the room with his most judging expression directed at the Chief Counselor. It had been then that Lindir had deemed it wise to leave, and had managed to barely close the door when the shouting began. The tense feelings between the two Elves – _who still both stayed remarkably close to each other the whole day_ \- had been the speaking topic of almost the whole Imladris. No one knows what had gotten their temperaments clash this time. Lindir for sure would not be figuring that puzzle out.

 

“Lindir, could you once more take the tray to Lord Elrond? I am busy.”

The request does not come as surprise this time, but Lindir considers refusing it. Erestor is very very busy, though, and he would cause more work to the Counselor by refusing here. As well unnecessary questioning why he would suddenly refuse such, especially after asking Erestor for work. So Lindir finds himself agreeing to do it, and once more heads with a tray to the horrible door. This time he would not have any illusions, or any hopes. Lindir crushes all of those to somewhere deep, and just moves in after knocking. He would leave the tray and then exit. He knows it had not been Elrond, who had knocked down the drink, so there is no point in staying. It would just make him miserable.

“Good morning.”

The tired voice cuts his thought, and Lindir looks to his Lord, who is watching him. Or the drink. Or tray. Or door. Or… _him_.

“G-Good morning, my Lord,” he answers with a slight stuttering, and brings the drink to Elrond. “Do you wish to drink your tea now, or—or later?”

There is a shake of head, and therefore Lindir puts down the tray, rather uncertain whether that meant “now” or “later”. With an unsure glance he looks to his Lord, who seems to be deep in thought as well. Or then Elrond is just sleepy. He has not too much time to think about it as his wrist is seized, and there is gentle, but strong pull, causing him to almost fall on his Lord’s bed. Before Lindir figures out what happens, he can feel a cold nose on his neck, and a faint breath that makes shivers creep down his backbone. He cannot utter a word out of his mouth, nor move away. His Lord is too close. He can smell Elrond’s warm, a bit stuffy scent, he can see the chestnut brown hair flowing to the pillows, and feel the rhythm of his Lord’s breathing on his neck. On his neck! Oh! Lindir turns very quickly again red. This is not proper. What is he supposed to do? The hand on his wrist is not holding him there anymore, but just having a gentle, relaxed hold. Lindir’s own pose is awkward and a bit painful, for he is completely bowing to his Lord. Can he move away from this? What is Elrond doing? This is not proper!

Before Lindir can act in any other way than panicking, the door is slammed open, and furious-looking Erestor steps in. The look of annoyance is erased as he sees Lindir and Elrond. The redness of Lindir’s face gets even deeper as he notices the Chief Councilor and the suspicious glare.

“Lindir?”

The low voice of the Councilor is curious, trying to avoid sounding annoyed. Lindir looks to Erestor, and then to his Lord. He knows not what to say. There is a complete silence, broken only by the faraway chatter of other Elves and the steady breathing of their Lord. Lindir cannot utter a word out of his mouth. Luckily he doesn’t need to.

“Lindir, I think he is asleep.”

The tone of Erestor’s voice tells what he does not say out loud.  _Move away._  So Lindir makes an attempt to do that, but the gentle hold on his wrist lets him not fully go. He is still stuck quite close to his Lord, and it does not help the redness of his face. As he tries to gently remove his hands from the hold, Erestor sighs, and Lindir can see that this had not been exactly what the Elf had come to do here. Well, it had not been exactly what he had come to do here either. Still, he feels reluctant to let go of the hand, pull himself away and straighten his back. All of this he does, but the Chief Councilor misses not the lingering gaze or the reluctant step away.

“Thank you for bringing the tray. I realized I have…a matter to consult my Lord about,” Erestor thanks, giving a look to the tray, and some of the original fury returning to his frown. Lindir only nods and bows. It is a dismissal. He should go. And leave he does, not daring to look to either of the two Elves in the room, for his face is still bright red. He can still feel the coldness of Elrond’s nose on his neck…

After Lindir has left, Erestor walks to the bed and sits down, giving a gentle slap to Elrond’s cheek.

“You are not asleep,” he states simply, looking rather judgmentally to his Lord. Elrond opens his eyes slowly, and stares back to his Chief Councilor.

“I never claimed I was,” the Elf-Lord defends himself.

“What happened?”

“…”

“Elrond.”

“His scent was the same as in the dream. I thought I had smelled it before. And then there was the herbal tea and the scent again, so I decided to make sure…”

Erestor smiles dryly.

“By pulling him very close?”

A silence follows his words, and his Lord seems to be deep in thought.

“Yes. He became very red, did he not..?” comes the answer, and Elrond sounds very considering.

“Anyone would have.”

“Ah.”

“Elrond.”

“…”

“Don’t toy with him.”

Startled at those words, Elrond concentrates better on his Counselor.

“What?”

“You think he is the one who kissed you and played the melody, do you not?”

“He plays harp, does he not…?”

“ _That is not the point!_ ”

The exasperation is clear in Erestor’s voice.

“Do not toy with him, Elrond, I warn you. Do you even know his name,  _hm_?”

Elrond looks away from Erestor, wondering if his Counselor really has that little faith in him. He only wants to find out if it was a dream or not. And if it was not…what then? He frowns.

“Lindir. His name is Lindir.”

“Correct. Elrond, you are chasing after your dream now. Remember that it might have been just a dream. Do not destroy his dreams.”

And with those words Erestor rises to leave, but Elrond grasps his wrist instead.

“Maybe some of us should be as well thinking of their dreams.”

The remark creates an unreadable mask on the other Elf’s face, and Elrond lets the hand escape from his hold.

“Do not destroy his dreams.”

With the last warning, Elrond is once more alone in his room, head full of thoughts to ponder upon.

_Why is Erestor so sure that he is related to Lindir’s dreams?_


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Embarrassment, redness, cold, cold, cold, warm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Acciaccatura: An ornament note that is one half step or one whole step below a principal note and is sounded at the same time as the principal note, adding dissonance to a harmony.

There are no more requests of Lindir bringing the herbal tea to Elrond. The small Elf rather believes it is because of what happened last time. Because he had been indecent. Oh! How terrible. Erestor could see through it all, probably.  The wise Counselor would no more let him near his Lord, would he? The weeks pass slowly, extremely slowly, and Lindir sees not Elrond. Erestor he does, for he still volunteers to help Erestor, but nothing seems out of ordinary. Life goes on everywhere, the same basic things stay the same, and yet Lindir keeps on waiting for something to happen. He needs an explanation. Why had Elrond done what he had? After all these years of not paying attention, what had been the reason to--to make him come so close?

Even when the Lord of Imladris is healthy once more, no explanation comes, and Lindir comes to the worst conclusion:  _Elrond has forgotten about him again_. Maybe he had mistaken him to Celebrían again. That thought is even worse, and it plagues him. It is illogical, senseless! Where he has brown, straight hair - _well; straight only because he pays special attention to its slight curling during mornings_ -, Celebrían has short silvery hair, all curls and twists. Celebrían is tall, having inherited some of the height from her mother, Lady Galadriel. She matched not Elrond in height, naturally, but she is closer than any other Elf-maiden. That is another point: Lindir is male. Celebrían is female. He is not even feminine! Maybe. Well. Some did say that from far away he could be mistaken for an Elf-maiden. But that is from far away. Elrond had not been far away! No, Lindir is nothing like Celebrían. Not in appearance, not in personality. No, there is no way Lord Elrond could mix them! And therefore the little musician remains confused and terribly anxious.

Then, one day, as he is performing to the Hall of Fire once more, he can spot there a familiar figure. The figure he has always waited to be there. Lindir’s hope of his Lord coming only for him, to listen to his music, might be coming true. At least his Lord seems not to be interested in anything else. And that notion makes Lindir’s heart jump wildly once more, and his fingers shake, and the harp lets out a wrong note, and his voice falters--! His mind goes completely blank, and he remembers not the notes he had been just playing or at what part of the song he had been. Embarrassment fills his eyes with water and his face turns bright red.  _No, not now._ Now is not a good time, and Lindir knows it. Silence falls, as he continues not, and the little red musician sees no other way to escape the situation except to run. And run he does, with his harp, away from the crowd, for he has just publicly and very clearly made a fool out of himself. Lindir escapes outside, for no one went outside at this time, except guards. He finds the gardens easily, and shivers there, hugging his harp. The warmth of his cheeks soon changes to freezing cold. He wears not anything warm enough to stay outside. Lindir makes sure not to cry, but buries his head to his knees, sitting down to the snow. It is not wise, and he should get up soon, but for a minute he wants to feel miserable. He has made a fool out of himself in front of his Lord. Again. He manages to scold himself for long before he can hear steps, and though Lindir cannot see who it is, he knows that the someone stops in front of him.

“Come, let us go inside,” the voice gently says, but Lindir wants not to obey. He recognizes from the voice that it is the very same person who had just made him falter at his singing, and he wants not to make the mistake again. Lindir raises his head only a bit, and instead of looking to his Lord, who has come after him, he starts singing the song to end. Strangely enough, Elrond comes near to him and listens. And Lindir’s voice falters again, making him once more stop.

“It will not do good for your lovely voice to be frozen here outside. Come, let us move in. You can sing your song to end later.”

This time Lindir obeys, having embarrassed himself once more in front of his Lord, but not for the last time. His feet feel like complete ice blocks. He had no idea that blood starting to move through veins again would be so painful, and already after few steps he has tears in his eyes. There is an arm on his back to support him, but Lindir does not want to walk forward, does not want to stand, the pain is there. And the arm pushes him forward, forces to take another step, and he cries out of the pain. That is when a warm, burning hot arm catches him, rises him away from the ground, and moves him close to his Lord’s chest. Lindir sobs silently against Elrond’s chest, his legs in the air, he being in air, carried by Elrond. His Lord is so warm, so gentle, and Lindir cannot do anything else but sob and try to ignore the pain everywhere that moves. The journey seems long, but after a while he is sitting on a chair next to a fireplace with a hot cup of tea on his hands. He is still slightly sobbing, though the warmth is returning more gently now. There is a pat on his head, slow patting, a whisper of “it is alright” and then the gentle smile and the chestnut hair is gone, and he is alone in the room.

Elrond had said someone would come and extinguish the fire sooner or later, so Lindir could just relax.

Relax.

That sounds nice. After spending some time outside, and then in front of the fireplace, sleeping and relaxing sounds nice. The tea probably has something to help him sleep, otherwise he would not feel this tired. Lindir decides to put the tea cup away and close his eyes for little while.

He’d just rest for the smallest of minutes, and then start figuring out the mess he made.

Or so he thought.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warm thoughts turn to more desperate ones due to Erestor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Acciaccatura: An ornament note that is one half step or one whole step below a principal note and is sounded at the same time as the principal note, adding dissonance to a harmony.

The fire is not indeed anymore warming him, when Lindir finally wakes up. A whole bunch of blankets is, though, and he is wrapped to them like a caterpillar. He does not really mind it, though it is a bit too warm already. Lindir closes his eyes once more. He knows not what the clock is, but it is dark still in the room, so probably he has woken up in the middle of the night. Lindir hopes there would be still some of the warm tea left, but of course there is not. He should move to his bed from the comfortable chair. Oh, it truly is nice to be curled up in all these warm blankets and near the fireplace…

Fireplace.

Since when had his quarters had a fireplace?

Or a  _comfortable_  chair?

Lindir opens his eyes, frowning. He is in someone else’s room, then. Which is in itself rather weird. Who had carried him away?

Lord Elrond.

A small happy smile appears to Lindir’s face with a slight blush. Lord Elrond had carried him. Against his chest. He had been warm. Oh, what a wonderful evening. Even if he had made himself look like a fool –still! Elrond had carried him, taken care of him, brought him tea. Elrond! And Lindir makes a mental note to cherish this memory, to keep it safe and near, for more he could not ask for. Except if he would hurt himself. There are other healers than Elrond, though. Hurting himself would not be good idea, not at all. With a frown, Lindir looks around, but the placement of the chair lets him not see around. So the little Elf gets out of his nest, slowly and carefully, and looks around. There is a small bed, small shelf overflowing with books and a table full of papers. There is a dark-haired figure on the bed, but Lindir knows already that it is not his Lord. He is in Erestor’s room. He smiles at the golden flower on the table, blooming in middle of all the important papers. It is something new that he has not seen on Erestor’s table before. Lindir moves back to under the blankets, but this time goes to lie on the bed next to the sleeping Elf.

“Lindir?” mumbles a sleepy voice. Apparently he also woke up Erestor.

“Thank you,” he whispers in return, and moves few blankets to the  _grim_  Chief Counsilor. If people would see him like this, sleeping with at least four blankets, they would not think him so stern perhaps.

“It’s still night.”

“Yes. I’m sorry I woke you up.”

“It’s alright. Elrond would have taken you to his quarters but mine were closer and less untidy.”

“It’s alright.”

“You would have liked that more,” the sleepy voice accuses. How sharp the Elf has to be, even when half asleep!

“Goodnight, Erestor.”

“Goodnight, Lindir. Stay away from him.”

A silence fills the room for while. Enough long to make Lindir wonder if Erestor has fallen asleep next to him.

“Why?” he asks in whisper. Now the Elf turns to look at him, not looking half-asleep at all.

“He loves her. It is unheard that an Elf would love two. I do not want to crush what you wish to achieve, but Lindir, he is not the one for you. You will find someone for you sooner or later.”

“Like you?”

Lindir means not those two words to be so bitter, but as Erestor clearly tries to come between him and Elrond, he can’t help but become defensive. There is silence again.

“Goodnight, Lindir,” is the last answer he gets, and Lindir knows he has hurt his dear friend. It feels wrong to stay in the bed, but he does.

There is nothing to do to help the situation tonight. On morning he would explain to Erestor that he is certain that Elrond is the one for him.

Because surely Elrond is.

It is not just some child-like affection, not only loyalty.

He wants to be close to Elrond, to know Elrond loves him, to kiss him, to hold him, to know when he is sad and happy, to be cause for such emotions.

He wants Elrond to be his, and to be Elrond’s.

_“It is unheard that an Elf would love two.”_

Unheard, but not impossible.

_“He loves her.”_

 No, he worships her. And she worships him.

But surely—

_“He loves her.”_

—surely—

_“It is unheard that an Elf would love two.”_

—surely Elrond loves him too.

Surely Elrond is his other half.

Surely he is Elrond’s other half.

Surely.

Yet the memory of that happy, a bit stupid smile stuck on Elrond’s face when he had looked at Celebrían,  _always_ , is burnt to his brain.

And the memory of that sweet, so incredibly happy smile glued to Celebrían’s face whenever she and Elrond had held hands or kissed  _or just looked at each other_  is burnt to his brain.

Maybe Erestor’s words are  _true_.

_For he loves her._

_And it is unheard that an Elf would love two._

And why on Earth would his beautiful Lord fall in love with him?

Once more, like many other nights, Lindir sends a prayer to the Valar to give space for him in Elrond’s heart.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erestor and Elrond seem to have a fight, and Lindir, well, Lindir is doing mistakes again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Acciaccatura: An ornament note that is one half step or one whole step below a principal note and is sounded at the same time as the principal note, adding dissonance to a harmony.
> 
> The idea with the horses is not my original idea, but I found the fic while in tumblr, and was unable to retrace it again. That one fic, which might be known to other Lindir/Elrond readers, is the inspiration for this chapter.

When Lindir wakes up, Erestor is nowhere. The blankets are neatly made-up on his side. Lindir gets up rather sleepily, seeking for the Counselor from the desk. The amount of papers has lessened considerably, and the golden---

\---the golden flower is gone? Lindir frowns, and leaves the bed clumsily. It takes a while before he reaches the desk, and can take a better look. The golden flower is not anywhere to be seen. The small Elf wonders what happened to the beautiful spark of colour in the otherwise rather grim room. Erestor likes dark colours, so his room is…dark. Lindir wonders if the flower disappeared due to his words yesterday.

_“You will find someone for you sooner or later.”_

_“Like you?”_

A faint embarrassment makes Lindir bow his head. He should have not salted the wound that Erestor certainly had. The Counsellor had not been known to have taken anyone to his bed or even express such feeling as  **love**. Love as to friends and little Elflings, yes, but not as in  **love**. Lindir is sure he has found his someone, and it is Elrond, but he cannot explain why there is Celebrían in that mixture as well. For towards her he feels absolutely nothing but…jealousy. With a shake of head, Lindir moves to the balcony. He knows Erestor wanted this room exactly because it has a balcony. And though it is cold outside, once more, he needs to breathe some fresh before going to apologize to the Counsellor. He realises quite soon that the whole balcony is, however, extremely slippery. Lindir discovers it through a bit harder way: by falling. He starts to crawls back to safety before anything else would happen, and just decides to settle for going to apologize. He does not want any broken bones. But as he crawls, he notices something golden on the corner of his eye: the flower. It is dying outside, its petals withering in the coldness, its colour losing its beauty. With a gasp Lindir gets up and rushes to the flower, fortunately without falling again. After having rescued the flower, the small Elf puts it back to where he had seen it before, and wonders how it had gotten outside.

Surely he has not caused this..?

After having bathed, dressed and otherwise gotten ready, Lindir approaches Erestor’s office once more, just to hear clear voices of argue from the room.

_“Don’t tell me -- too---!”_

_“What? --me too?!”_

_“This -- madness!”_

_“Erestor, what is wrong --?!”_

The other at least is the Counsellor, but not being close enough to exactly eavesdrop, Lindir cannot figure out the other speaker. Nor what they are actually talking about. The last sentence bothers him. Is there something wrong with Erestor? Has he caused it? Lindir moves away from the door just in time to see his Lord storm out the room, leaving a furious Counsellor behind. The door closes with a loud slam, and the little Elf backs next to the wall. His Lord sees him not, but walks towards –presumably- his own rooms. Lindir is not sure if he should go ask Erestor what had happened, but after hearing something shatter in the rooms, he decides against it. Something is wrong, but he knows not what, and after having said so badly yesterday to the kind Counsellor, Lindir dares not to confront him when he is angered to such extent. Instead he heads to ask if his help is needed in the kitchens –there help is always needed- and aids there the best he is able to.

Lindir has not managed to work for too long, when he can see from the windows that his Lord is having his horse saddled and made ready, and rides away. He is not wearing armour. Lindir inquires about it from the other Elves, and someone says that the Elf-Lord has been very irritated today by something, and as he has a habit to do, probably has gone to cool down. Lindir thinks unavoidably the incident with the Counsellor. Those two do not fight often. What got them argue now so passionately? Lindir considers the possibilities for quite long time, before he notices that his Lord is returning. Determined to find out what is wrong, the little Elf leaves the kitchens, having aided already few hours, and heads out with just his robe. Elrond is still sitting on his horse, both looking exhausted. Lindir recognizes the horse to be one of the new ones, gotten from recent trade with the Men, and still quite young. Probably Elrond had decided to train it as well.

“My Lord?” he asks, approaching the pair from behind. His Lord has not heard his light steps on the snow, and is obviously startled. Unfortunately, same could be said for the horse, which is used to the heavy steps of Men. Lindir can only see the slender, beautiful horse leg rising and—

\--there is an awful noise of something crashing, and then awful coldness. The pain is blinding. Lindir keeps his eyes closed tightly, as if that would help the pain, and holds his arm. But it is not his arm that hurts, but his side. He just doesn’t dare to touch it. Everything is black and painful and there is loud humming in his ears, until someone tries to turn him around. Lindir’s own cry of pain sounds unnaturally loud to his own ears, as is the desperate “ _no!_ ” that escapes out of someone’s mouth. Perhaps his own. Someone holds his face, the hands are warm. Lindir can hear someone curse something along the lines of  _“foolish little Elf!”_  and he is fairly sure it is his Lord. Someone is shouting somewhere.  _Something somewhere somehow. Ah._  It is not making sense. Soon Lindir can feel hands carefully touch his arm, and Lindir clears his throat a bit, opening his eyes to the blurry, painful reality.

“Where does it hurt?”

Lindir meets his Lord’s worried eyes. And he smiles. This seems not to amuse his Lord though. How queer.

“The side.”

“Probably your rib then. It will hurt a bit to carry you inside. Why did you approach from behind?”

Lindir smiles still, but answers not. His Lord is worried for him. The painful side is clouding most of his thoughts, but his Lord notices him. His Lord cares. And it makes him smile.

After a while there is pain once more, as he is carried with a stretcher to the Healing Wing. The pain is starting to be more real already, and it bothers Lindir. He would rather stay in the hazy state of mind. But no, he is painfully aware of every bump or careless swing, he is aware of his Lord walking beside him, he is aware of Erestor and Glorfindel joining him at some point, he is aware of the sounds around him. Lindir closes his eyes to shut them off, but he can’t.

The noises keep informing him what is happening. When he finally is carried to a real bed, he sighs from relief. No more moving.

The noises are more silent.

It is more peaceful.

“Lindir, Elrond will have to remove your robe for short while to check on the injury.”

It is Erestor. He sounds worried. He says—

_\--what?_


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lindir rests, Elrond and Erestor talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Acciaccatura: An ornament note that is one half step or one whole step below a principal note and is sounded at the same time as the principal note, adding dissonance to a harmony.

Lindir opens his eyes to stare to the several Elves in front of him. There is his Lord, pushing his sleeves up. There is Erestor standing near to his bed, seemingly cold, but there is a worried tone in his words. Glorfindel is near to Elrond, ready to help. There are some other Elves trying to ask what happened, some other healers ready to help. Lindir shakes his head, looking at the huge amount of Elves. Luckily Erestor understands that most of the Elves have to go, and soon starts to usher them away. Seeing what his Counsellor is doing, Elrond as well dismisses the other Elves. It is most probably just a broken bone, so such audience is not needed. Lindir feels relieved, but then his Lord comes closer, moving so close to open the buttons—

“No!” the small Elf cries out once more, and tries to move away, away from those hands trying to open those damned buttons. A deep deep red spreads across his face, but as well a painful grimace, as it hurts. Lindir can see that all of the three Elves are surprised. Lindir closes his eyes tightly and tries to breathe again. He does not want Elrond to see his body. Not that it would be abnormal or in any way disfigured, but simply because he is not much but skin and bones. He does not want to hear Elrond tell him to eat. Or force him to eat. He would like to have more muscles, but his dislike with swords ( _or any kind of exercising, really_ ) has led to no such things.

“Lindir, it is alright.”

The silent whisper makes Lindir look away, feeling how his face is burning red.

“I will just look at your side.”

 _That is the worst part,_  Lindir rather thinks, for though he has longed for his Lord’s embrace, for his closeness, he did not think of the touching part. Reluctantly he allows himself to be lifted to sit – _and he bites his lip not to scream out_ \- so that his robe could be removed. His Lord works slowly and gently the buttons open, and Lindir knows not where to watch, for he is sure Elrond has as well noticed his redness. Lindir helps to get the robe away, and then he may lay down again. Elrond presses a kiss to his forehead.

_A kiss._

To his forehead.

Lindir’s redness does not fade away, as might have been guessed.

“It is alright,” his Lord whispers, and then moves his attention to his side, where an ugly bruise is already forming. Lindir closes his eyes as the fingers ghost over his skin, carefully examining the side. Lindir keeps his eyes closed. So careful,  _so soft_ , so cold touch. For a while the fingers move and inspect the damage, sometimes uncomfortably strongly, and then Elrond gets up. Lindir does not get his robe back, but a blanket.

“Your rib has suffered damage. It is not as bad as it could be, but you will need to be staying here for few weeks. Can you breathe well?”

Lindir clutches the blanket, hiding his face to it and nods. He can breathe just fine. Well, taking deep breaths hurts, but otherwise yes.

“Lindir, it is important that you inhale deeply from time to time. With a broken rib it might hurt a bit, but it is important so no other damage will be caused. I will give you pain medication, but there is nothing we can do to make this faster. The healing will happen on its own.”

The small, injured Elf nods once more, hiding better under all the blankets. The healing would happen on its own. That is good. And apparently there is no further damage. Yet. He attempts to take a deep breath, but it ends to such pain that he tries not again. Lindir can hear someone moving a bit away, probably Elrond. There is some noise, bottles clinging,  _oh_ , it is probably the pain medication. And indeed, soon there is a drink given to him, he is carefully moved to sit again and given the good-smelling drink. It does not taste as good as it smells. Also, it is a bit painful to chug it down his throat as well. Lindir is allowed to go back to lie down and there is a gentle hand patting his head. He feels like a child. Well, he is in size like a child compared to his Lord…

“Sleep now, Lindir,” the caring voice of his Lord whispers, continuing the patting.

“Yes, my Lord,” he mutters a sleepy answer, not seeing the rather grim look that flashes on Elrond’s face. The Chief Counsellor, who has known Elrond and knows his moods, recognizes that look much better.

 

It is much later that Elrond and Erestor depart from the room. Glorfindel would stay to look after the little Minstrel.

“Take it,” Erestor says, and pushes a cup of warm tea to his Lord’s hand. “I apologize for my words this morning.”

His Lord gives a long stare, but accepts the cup, and they sit down to Erestor’s office.

“And I apologize too,” Elrond answers with a considering voice. Erestor knows he means it.

“It is still rather unusual.”

“It is. But he—“

“—loves you.”

Elrond gives the same grim look to his Chief Counsellor as before to Lindir.

“He calls me ‘ _my lord_ ’.”

“That is how everyone calls you,  _my Lord_.”

The joke does not make either of them laugh.

“He merely admires,” Elrond says silently.

“No, he loves you. You might not have observed it, but believe me, there would be nothing he would not do to make you see him.”

“Like get behind my horse and scare it?”

“…Elrond, you don’t—“

“—I don’t. He did not do it on purpose. Probably.”

There is a sigh from both of them.

“Love is strange,” Erestor comments. This receives a rather sad smile from Elrond.

“It is. But Erestor, meanwhile you have observed Lindir, you have forgotten to observe me.”

“I have not forgotten that. It is not in my job description.”

“Is it in your job description to watch over those who love your Lord?”

“I take care of your House. I take care of those who you love.”

Elrond stays silent at that remark. Erestor only shakes his head.

“Then why did you tell him to forget about his…dreams?”

“I was not sure if you would delude yourself into believing that you love only Celebrían.”

“I do not have a habit of deluding myself.”

Erestor looks like he wants to say something, but stays silent. Only for while.

“Elrond…you and I, we know both that you have lost many. And I know you do not appreciate that I bring it up. It could have been easy for you to deny another chance to love—“

“—I love Celebrían still—“

“—no,  _listen_. It could have been easy for you to deny yourself another loved person that you might possibly lose. I know the best out of all these Elves that serve you of your losses and how they have affected you. I know that on rainy nights you go out and let yourself freeze in the rain until someone comes and fetches you.”

“You mean until you come and fetch me.”

“Yes.”

Silence falls to the room. For a very long time they are both quiet, listening to the noises made by other Elves.

“Rain blocks  _him_. So I have to wait until I see him again.”

“I know. But it is safer to wait for that inside and look at the stars when the sky is clear.”

“Rain reminds me of—“

“—I know.”

“Celebrían was fond of rain.”

“I know.”

“Is he fond of rain?”

“I think Lindir hates it.”

“Oh.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An excellent moment to kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Acciaccatura: An ornament note that is one half step or one whole step below a principal note and is sounded at the same time as the principal note, adding dissonance to a harmony.

The days pass slowly as there is nothing to do. The few first hours had gone by sleeping. He had been aware of Glorfindel staying behind. Elrond had warned of pain, but Lindir had not realised the extent the pain medication helped him until the next day. Food he eats carefully and “ _too small_ ” portions. He has tried to explain that he could not simply eat more, but again and again he hears about it. They do not force him to eat, yet every time he has to refuse being given more food than what he can eat. It annoys Lindir. He also has a feeling of smelling horrible after the first week. He wants to play his harp, but dares not to ask anyone to bring it to him. Well, hardly anyone visits him long enough to listen to such request. Erestor, who would have known the importance, is probably buried under work. Glorfindel has border patrolling and soldiers to train. Elrond…well, why would his Lord visit him more than necessary or know where his harp even is? Sometimes, just when he is about to fall asleep, he swears he sees Elrond open the door and come check him, and whisper that “ _it is alright_ ”. Yet never does he find his Lord next to him when he wakes up.

After the second week has passed, Lindir asks for bath. He is told that such would be arranged, but Lord Elrond’s permission would need to be granted. Lindir nods, and waits. It is not until the next day that Elrond comes to visit him – _this time while he is awake_ \- and checks his side. After a lot of uncomfortably pleasant touching of his side, Lindir is given the permission to go to bathe. Things do not exactly go as he planned, however, when Elrond tells him to lean on to his Lord, and that he would be looked after. It would be underestimation to say Lindir feels excited and horrified. He feels like his world is coming to an end, but to what a beautiful end. Like eating the last piece of chocolate, and knowing you want more of it, but knowing you won’t get more. He agrees to lean on to his Lord, and follows with rather pained expression him to the bathrooms. Standing hurts, but Lindir feels more like he is floating, for Elrond seems to support him more than he had said. He is glad for that. Their careful way leads to the bathroom, and he is let to rest on the bench while his Lord checks that everything is alright. Lindir sits there, feeling vaguely uncomfortable and in pain, but otherwise alright. So when Elrond walks to him, he finds himself smiling.

“The bath is all ready. Do you need help with undressing?” his Lord asks, his eyes asking and probably completely ignorant of the shock that his words cause for the little Minstrel. Does he need help with  _undressing_? Lindir simply stares to Elrond, who apparently takes that as a yes, and helps him to stand up. He had not gotten new robe or his old one, but he still did have pants on. Several minutes later, Lindir is without them as well, completely red and speechless. He presses his lips together to not let out any kind of noise that could be misinterpreted, and just lets himself be guided to the warmth of bath. Elrond has seen him naked now.. Luckily his Lord does leave him alone for the bath, or more severe redness might have appeared. He is let to bath in peace, and apparently take as much time as he wants. It is nice. He manages to make the redness disappear, though the memory of Elrond undressing him still makes him squirm. After managing somehow to wash himself – _though moving his upper body is extremely painful_ \- Lindir climbs out, and stumbles a bit forward. He feels dizzy and tired. Luckily there is soon an arm around him, and he is guided back to the bench. Then a towel appears, starting with drying his face, the neck, arms, chest…Lindir wakes up from his dizziness to look at the Elf tending to him, finding to his horror it being Elrond, his Lord, the subject of his attraction. He tries to get up, but the sting of pain from his rib and a gentle hand stop him. Lindir presses his lips together again, trying to stay relaxed under the careful drying. In the end the towel is put around him, and instead of having to walk, Elrond carefully rises him to his arms. Lindir tries to protest this, but his small voice is ignored. His Lord’s arms are strong, warm and confident. He feels like a feather. He is not as white as feathers, though. He is red. Completely red again. To add to that, there is only one position where it is actually comfortable to be carried, and it is when he is hiding his face to Elrond’s robes.

Elrond lays him down to the bed so carefully, so gently, but Lindir would not like to let go. Unfortunately, he has to.  Elrond helps the blanket on him after ensuring that he has drank some warm tea and pain medication, and makes sure he has everything alright. What can Lindir say? He cannot ask his Lord to stay. He cannot…right?

“Lindir?”

Lindir turns to look better to Elrond. The sun is setting, creating beautiful effect on the chestnut brown hair. He smiles.

“May I ask you something?” Elrond asks.

Lindir nods.

“Do you…”

The sentence is started, but not finished, as there appears a thoughtful look to his Lord’s face.

“Nevermind.”

“My Lord?”

Elrond looks to him still, looking thoughtful, and Lindir’s words are followed by silence. The whole corridor is silent. Most of the Elves are probably on Hall of Fire, which is on other side of the whole house. It is warm. And Elrond is beautiful.

_It would be an excellent time to confess love interest in a moment like this._

“Lindir, I have been thinking.”

His Lord’s voice is silent, as if he is unsure whether to break the silence or not. Lindir smiles. He is feeling sleepy. His Lord is sitting on a chair near to his bed. Lindir moves to sit up, even though the other Elf seems to have something to say about it.

“Lindir?”

How wonderful his name sounds when Elrond says it.

_It would be an excellent moment to kiss._

Elrond gets up, moves his hand to Lindir’s chest, to push him back to lie down.

Lindir moves a bit up, moving his hand to Elrond’s cheek, to pull it back closer.

Elrond looks surprised when their lips meet.

The rest Lindir sees not, because he closes his eyes, and enjoys the small moment he can feel the other’s lips on his. And he agrees with who ever said that lips are more sensitive than any other part, for it feels incredibly to touch Elrond’s lips with his. It is not a long moment, for his Lord pulls away. It is not a long moment, for he pulls away with a maddening twist in his stomach, a reddening burn on his cheeks. Elrond pushes him back down easily, and pulls the blanket over.  Then all that he can see is Elrond’s back as the Elf-Lord leaves.

Elrond had looked  _sad._

Lindir feels tired.

Elrond had looked sad.

_The last piece of chocolate cake is eaten._

_And lost._

_And there won’t be another piece._


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chocolate cake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Acciaccatura: An ornament note that is one half step or one whole step below a principal note and is sounded at the same time as the principal note, adding dissonance to a harmony.

If everything would go as he dreams, he would be walking along the corridor now. The setting sun would throw his shadow to the walls. He would open a certain, wooden door, not knock on it politely, no, he would not wait for a calm voice to bid him to enter. He would walk in, he would walk to  _him_ , he would take  _his_  hand and hold it, he would tell  _him_  about his love, his feelings, his longing, he would ask from  _him_  what he feels.

But Lindir is still lying on the bed of the Healing Wing. He is sad. Bad thing about cakes is that when you get a bite, you want more. And he wants more. More than this. And he doesn’t understand the expression Elrond had had. It had been so sad. Almost miserable. Could he not see how Lindir feels? The small Elf shakes his head. It is not right for him to think this. He has insulted his Lord by taking such freedom to kiss him. Lindir has done wrong. Still, he craves the forbidden sweetness.

If everything would go as he dreams, he would be walking along the corridor now. The setting sun would colour everything red, bright red, blood red. He would open a certain door, wooden, large door, and he would not knock when entering, as is his habit. He would walk in, he would walk to  _him_ , and he would look  _him_  to eyes. He would tell _him_  about his love, his feelings, his longing. He would ask  _him_  to understand. His love, his feelings, his longing, they are not simple. And then, then he would ask from _him_  what he feels.

But Elrond is still sitting on the comfortable sofa of Erestor’s room. Bad thing about it is that the Counsellor himself is there, grumpily muttering about work. Elrond himself is feeling mixed feelings. He knows loss, he knows pain and helplessness. Losing Celebrían had not been easy. Losing his King, his parents and his  _parents_ , his brother, losing so many to war and the world, it is not easy. Could Lindir not see how he feels? The tall Lord shakes his head. Of course the small Elf understands not –and it annoys him a bit that of all adjectives Elrond could choose, he chose ‘small’. Lindir is beautiful, adorable when blushing, wondrous musician and most important of all, gentle. And Elrond has taken away his freedom by letting him fall in love with himself, has doomed the kind soul to feel whole with a soul so crushed. Elrond has done wrong. Still, he craves…

Slowly Lindir rises from his bed. He cannot understand the sadness. He has to talk with Elrond. Everything has to be explained. He has to explain to his Lord how he feels. And leave, if it cannot be. Something about it all gives him the tiny spark of hope that it would be so. Is it due to the kiss or some other inner strength, Lindir feels now certain that he will do what he plans to. The corridor is not illuminated by the setting sun anymore, but dark and scary. He cannot walk quickly due to his rib. He manages to Elrond’s door, however, after a while that feels like an eternity. An eternity of doubt! For doubt and suspicion are starting to form in his mind. Why had he kissed his Lord? Foolish, that it had been. He has ruined everything. He knocks to the wooden door, unlike in his thoughts. There is no voice to bid him in. No one, absolutely no one answers. No one moves in the corridors. No one speaks. There is no movement. Lindir feels the corners of his mouth twitch downwards. It is cold. His rib hurts. Breathing hurts. He is alone. Completely alone. Not Erestor, not Glorfindel, not his musician friends or others could help him out of this mess. Silently, he holds back the tears for now. It is no place to cry here. He would return to his own room, cry there, pack his bag –leave.

As Lindir turns to leave, he sees a dark figure walking towards the room. Dark, because there are no lights. Slowly the figure moves closer and closer, and he looks into grey, wise eyes. The hair does not remind him of chestnuts this time, for darkness eats the brightness of it. Elrond.

Elrond had risen from Erestor’s sofa after a long while of nagging. The Counsellor had not been in the best mood. The Elf-Lord had not blamed him for that. He had felt that he needed to talk. About everything. Most of all, he had thought he should explain Lindir how he feels. Something in the thought has given him his tranquility back. He has managed to calm down. He would explain. His walk has given him strength. The walk has been brief, but strengthening. Why had he left Lindir? Foolish, that it had been. That has ruined everything. Before he hads been able to finish that thought, he has noticed the dark-haired Elf on his door. Lindir.

They stare each other for while, before Elrond comes closer to Lindir. Neither says a word. Lindir is the first one to break the contact, to press his gaze down, ashamed. Then, the unexpected happens, and he is in warm embrace. It welcomes him, warms him, guards him. His arms  move almost automatically around the taller form. And long they just stand there, embracing each other. Long enough for Lindir to become painfully aware that he can’t breathe well. Still, the embrace continues, until the long arms move to support him, to open the door, to guide him to the bed. And the gentle voice whispers him to sleep.

_We will talk on morning._

And that is a promise.

The last thing he remembers is those warm, safe arms around him, a slightly uncomfortable sleeping position, and his legs tangled with the long, strong legs of his Lord.

_We will talk on morning._


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elrond's colour scheme changes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Acciaccatura: An ornament note that is one half step or one whole step below a principal note and is sounded at the same time as the principal note, adding dissonance to a harmony.
> 
> Chestnuts:  
> \- Prevention and foresight, which is why Lindir describes Elrond’s hair as chestnut brown.  
> \- "Imagine being sustained and nurtured by such a small (and tasty) morsel!" -a quote about chestnuts. Which is why chestnut brown is Lindir’s colour in Elrond’s dreams.

_The rain weeps,_ _the door creeks,_

_I sleep,_ _you leap._

_Arrow, spear, sword,_ _leave not hands on own accord,_

_leave blood to be adored,_ _that neither of us can afford._

_More than pain,_ _all in vain,_

_lost gain,_ _not again._

_‘tis all I can bear._

 

Red. Deep red, almost brownish, crimson colour that spreads like plague. Black, pitch black, a dark smoke that hinders the war. Grey, ever there, pastel colours changed to grey.

All ruined by the crimson shadow.

 

It is morning when Elrond wakes up, sweaty, heart beating wildly and restless. There is someone sleeping in front of him, being the little spoon. Elladan, Elrohir? No. Lindir. Of course. Lindir. And the Elf-Lord lets out a small sigh of relief. Elladan and Elrohir have already grown to be strong warriors. Still, he worries, for they continue to hunt orcs. With sadness, Elrond thinks of Celebrían. She had been everything to him once. He sighs, and looks to the Elf sleeping so near to him, curled comfortably, short but beautiful eyelashes looking down. Yes, Lindir has somehow managed to sneak to his consciousness, tear his way through, and so leave a mess behind. Mess and confusion. How is he able to love two? Does he love Lindir? He is quite sure he does. But why? Is there not enough pain in his world, his life, does he have to lose  _another_  one still? Unconsciously, Elrond takes better hold from Lindir. Or is Lindir here to heal those hurts, to give him a spark of hope? So much he has lost. So much internal bleeding. Crimson shadow, as it appears in dreams. Black means war. Grey means peace. How dull colour schemes his dreams have had for so long time. It is only those three. Celebrían appears as yellow.

 

_Yellow, bright yellow, yellow like bee, and the grey around it turns into black and engulfs it, and when finally the colour changes, it is crimson, it is brown, it is black, it is bright red and it hurts._

He remembers far too well the colour scheme of  _that_  night. Celebrían returned not. The black had gotten to her. It had conquered the grey. It had stained the yellow, until the yellow had been no more, and it had been red.  And there had vanished his Lady, his sunflower, his beautiful Queen. No more would the silver hair be on his way when he sleeps. No more would he see her walking determinedly towards her destination. No more those beautiful smiles. What had been left had been horror. Though everything had been looked after, the flinching, twitching, the lifeless stare –they had not disappeared. It had been almost like she had not been able to see him. When it had come apparent that Celebrían neither slept at nights, the painful decision had been made.

_And so yellow disappeared from his colour scheme._

Silently Elrond moves his arms better around the smaller Elf. Lindir has the colour brown. Chestnut brown. He is not exactly sure why, but lately, the crimson has turned brown. Until it is brown, chestnut brown, light brown. It is strange. But it strengthens his will to keep the Elf close. He would perhaps not disappear from Elrond’s sight, like everyone else.

 

It is very comfortable. That is Lindir’s first thought. It is warm, and safe. He is in an embrace. That is nice. It all is. So when he turns around, and meets the pair of grey eyes, he first smiles. Then, as he sees amusement in those wise eyes, his sleepiness wears off, and a blush colours his face red. Elrond. Elrond is close. He has not left him. And his Lord leans forward, is there going to be a kiss, his heart beats almost out of his chest, he closes his eyes ----the lips of his Lord find his forehead, and press a gentle kiss there. Lindir blush deepens. Why had he expected a kiss? Of course there would be no such. So instead he tries to escape the embrace.

That is not granted to him either. Elrond holds him close. That is nice, but also it makes Lindir absolutely nervous.

“I said we would talk on morning,” his Lord says quietly. “Lindir, how much do you know about my life?”

“I know about your…father and mother. Any Minstrel would be ashamed to not know. Of your brother I know little. I know that you were the Herald of the High King of Noldor, Ereinion Gil-Galad. I know everything I’ve watched happen from the moment I was born.”

“Lindir, you are a great deal younger than I am.”

“Y-Yes, my Lord.”

“You have not participated in war, I assume.”

“No.”

A silence follows for so long time that Lindir turns to look at his Lord. Elrond looks thoughtful.

“You have not experienced loss, then.”

Lindir stays silent, though that assumption is wrong. His parent sailed not a few years ago, seeing that their only son would survive in Imladris already. He hates them not for that, but…

“You do not know the battlefield.”

“No, my Lord.”

“I’m sorry, Lindir, it sounds like I am blaming you.”

Yes, Lindir agrees with that. It sounds like he is blamed for not taking part n war. Before he can agree, there is a kiss to his forehead again.

“What I am trying to say is…that I care for you, Lindir. In a same way as I assume you do for me, due to the kiss we shared.”

Something warm and  _giddy_  jumps in the small Elf’s chest.  _I care for you._

“And what I want to express is that I am old. I have seen wars, I have lost many. Therefore, I fear, I will have my faults. I would not wish to bestow those faults to you.”

“My Lord—“

“—call me Elrond—“

“---Elrond. My Lord Elrond. I—I know that you have tendencies to get depressed or sad and such, but honestly, my Lord, it is what every single one of us does.”

“I’m possessive.”

“There is no one else laying claim on me.”

“They better not.”

Lindir smiles, his heart beating faster than ever. Elrond’s words are making him feel lightheaded.

“They better not, because you are mine.”

And with that sentence, Elrond leans to kiss his adorable little Lindir.

_You are mine._

_My chestnut tree._

_And you will endure ‘till our time here is over._


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fastforward of happiness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Acciaccatura: An ornament note that is one half step or one whole step below a principal note and is sounded at the same time as the principal note, adding dissonance to a harmony.

It is the simple things that change, so Lindir thinks. For the first few weeks, there is hardly anything different. He still helps Erestor around, still plays his harp and sings for others. The thing that changes is that if he meets Elrond during his days, there will, for sure, be a fleeting, small peck on lips, small and a warm embrace that brings them close to each other. These smallest of moments are enough to keep him happy and trusting, even if sometimes he would wish at night that he could once more sleep next to his Lord. Another small change is the occasional basket with food that is delivered to Erestor’s study, and earns more than a questioning gaze from the Counsellor. There is never a card with, so they never know to which one of them it is. It is more probable it is from Elrond to Lindir, they agree on that, but they do not have any proof to either direction. Their Lord Elrond refuses to comment anything about it, for reason or another, and if Lindir would be questioning it, he would receive a light kiss and an adorable smile. So the little Elf decides to believe that Elrond is sending the basket. After all, he  _did_  say that he is possessive. If someone else would be sending them breakfast/lunch/dinner baskets, surely Elrond would have done something.

Other nice thing is that when summer finally comes, Lindir finds himself more outside the walls of the Last Homely House than inside, and with better company than last year: his Lord takes part in his walks, suggests going for rides and accepts his poor, stumbled requests of picnics. And even if it had started as a joke, Elrond had listened to a love song, sang by Lindir on the other side of the window. Lindir likes that day, for it all had been very romantic. The night had already spread throughout Imladris, the sky being a dark blue veil, decorated with bright stars. He had joked about the cliché of singing outside a lover’s window. Elrond had laughed. He had said he would appreciate that, no matter how cliché it would be. So Lindir had gone under his window, knocked, and had waited until Elrond opened his window. Then with a pan-flute, he had found a melody and played it for his Lord. He sang only a bit, for playing the pan-flute and singing do not go together, but he had managed to make Elrond look very happy. They had shared a slightly longer kiss through the window, with Lindir tiptoeing as far as he could, and Elrond bowing gracefully to bestow his lips on Lindir’s. Yes, that had been a wonderful night. The only thing that made him sad had been that he had needed to return to his own room that night, his own cold room. But he had told himself to enjoy the little things he could get.

On the day that Celebrían had been ambushed, Elrond had ridden away with his sons. Lindir had been worried, but not alone. It had seemed like many Elves were worried over this particular day, and Lindir had never felt greater relief than see his Lord return without greater injuries. Orcs had been found and slaughtered. That day, Elrond had ignored him completely, as if forgotten his existence, and Lindir had found his day strangely empty of his Lord’s wonderful presence. Actually, as he had discovered, the whole week Elrond avoided him. It had hurt. Erestor had been with his Lord, so had been said, and Lindir had drowned himself into making new songs to stop the horrible sensation of being cast away. Fortunately, that had not been the case, and after a while his Lord sought out him once more, held his hand, kissed his cheeks and lips, and smiled to him most beautifully.

Now it is winter once more, and Lindir finds himself even closer to his Lord Elrond. They are huddled together next to a fireplace, Elrond reading a book and him writing music. Elrond does not bother his creative process. Lindir is grateful for that. He knows many who would rather not sit in a completely isolated room in silence and wait that the other is done. But Elrond does that, and Lindir knows he does it for him. It does not surprise him, therefore, that when he closes his little notebook and puts his papers away, Elrond smiles happily and looks up to him. With a slight nod he signs to his Lord that it is alright to talk and bother him now. The taller Elf comes closer, and embraces him, the silence still unbroken. Lindir rejoices that. He likes the silence of nature –the nature is  _never_  silent  _actually_ , but it has own melody of silence. Lindir moves closer to Elrond as well, and as he rises his head to look to his Lord, those wise grey eyes look to him. That is the moment when Lindir feels that they both are happy, warm and safe. that they both are content with each other. He smiles, Elrond smiles, and then there is a kiss, a soft touch of lips, that surprisingly deepens into a proper kiss. Poor Lindir has no clue of what to do, but some kind of automatic response turns on, as he is after a while of awkward stumbling able to answer better to the kiss. Still, with his cheeks burning red, the little Elf is rather sure he can  _feel_  his Lord’s smile.

“You are cute.”

Already have Elrond’s lips left his, and still Lindir would rather continue the kiss, so he leans forward to capture once more the lips of his teasing,  _mean_  little Lord.

Even if Elrond is never amused whenever he is called a little Lord by Lindir.

 

Yes, it is the simple things that change. Erestor’s advice had been taken from early on by both parties, except for the last one he gave to Lindir, which had been based on wrong assumptions. Erestor’s behaviour towards them has changed hardly: he still speaks to Lindir as always, as well to Elrond, but there is a certain tone he uses when teasing them of each other. A certain, happy tone. And though Lindir knows it not, he speaks less of Celebrían to Elrond, and this has been marked down by the Lord of Imladris. Therefore, Elrond makes an effort to speak of her himself, and always Erestor still listens.

Glorfindel’s attitude stays the same, and he seems only to enjoy the happiness and joy of the couple. He is subtle than Erestor, however. A simple hints, like “well, I think you should go to show that to Elrond and get your kiss” or few less innocent ones. For example, poor Lindir had found himself completely red in front of quite many soldiers – _friends of Glorfindel_ \- when he had tried to find Elrond’s sword, described it as long, a bit wide, and thin, and so received lots of laughter and overjoyed expressions from the warriors –including Glorfindel. Lindir had not found it funny, not even when Glorfindel had explained what exactly had been so hilarious. The little innocent Elf found it unfair that swords would be used as a substitute name for  _that_.

As the spring once more melts the snow, and the birds once more sing their happier  _tra-la-la_  songs, Lindir finds his own rooms empty. He has owned little: and those little things has been taken to Elrond’s chambers. It makes him more than happy. Though it is not every night that Elrond comes early to bed –for he more than often overworks like Erestor-, those nights are the best, for they include kissing and, well, perhaps a bit less innocent things. Lindir never quite manages not to turn red from his face, but to his greatest luck, Elrond thinks that adorable, and almost always smiles to him so that Lindir knows for sure that his Lord is amused. They are definitely closer now, and though nothing official has been done, Lindir wears a wooden ring on his index finger of the right hand, where usually Elves have their marriage ring. The ring is a gift from Elrond,  _his little Lord_ , as a promise of staying and not letting Lindir to go away.

_Like our love, you have to take care of the ring, as I will take care of my counterpart._

The ring is of rosewood, and Elrond had explained it symbolized kindness, compassion and good heart. It is as well rumoured to be a love charm, and as their love is rather  _strange_ , no matter how one looks at it, he thought it appropriate for Lindir to carry such.

_If you do not take care of it, it will break. A wooden rings breaks easier than golden, so please, take as good care of it as I will. If it is once broken, it will never be the same._

Both of them keep special care of the rings. Neither of them wants it to break.

_Lindir, you are my love charm._

_Elrond, you are my good heart._

 

But there is the question neither of them wants answer to yet, and it is now a daily reminder to Elrond. Every time he takes off the wooden ring to bath, the golden ring stays on his finger, where it reminds him of the beautiful Elf-maiden that once had been everything to him.

_What of Celebrían?_

_What will she say?_

_Oh, she will hate me._

And Elrond wants to sail immediately, wants to explain things while they still are clear, but at the same time he knows that his wife will be hurt by his actions.

_For, if he would have sailed, and Celebrían would return with another man, would he not be furious?_

Yet the day of departure is nearing every day, every week, every month and every year. And both of them know it.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elrond and Lindir sail to meet Celebrían.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Acciaccatura: An ornament note that is one half step or one whole step below a principal note and is sounded at the same time as the principal note, adding dissonance to a harmony.

Rather sooner than later, the day of departure creeps upon the Lord of the Last Homely House and his little lover. Lindir feels restless, even when the beautiful Sea is open before him. It is green and it is blue, it is white and dark and dangerous. It is fascinating. But now he can only see his doom there wherever they would sail, a melancholic feeling of losing something once more. For though Lindir has tried to keep on happy mood, his Lord sits now farther away, and though Lindir is sure Elrond thinks he sees not, the little Elf does see that the wooden ring is not on his index finger, while the golden is. It makes him restless.

_Water might damage the wood, so keep it safe._

Now there is a vast container of water in front of them, and they will pass it in a wooden ship. Lindir takes his ring, and puts it to his pocket, to safety. He would not let the journey destroy the promise of future he has. Perhaps his Lord had thought the same.

When it is time to step to the ship, Elrond seems to not pay attention to anything, except to the Sea. Erestor had told such might happen, yet Lindir is not completely comfortable with it.

“He might stare the whole time to Sea and wait that he will see land once more,” Erestor had said.

“Why?” he himself had inquired.

“He loves his wife.”

How simple answer. And Lindir could imagine that he understands Elrond, and still feel miserable and scared. It has been long time since Elrond has seen his wife. What if he realizes then that everything is wrong –that he never had loved Lindir? The thought plagues and destroys the little Elf’s good mood, and the other Elves that sail cannot miss that. Perhaps this would be too high wall to climb over.  _Perhaps this is actually the last spoonful of chocolate cake_. Lindir wishes it is not, even if he has to watch his Lord staring off to the Sea the whole journey. Much much later he would hear how pleasant the journey had been, but darkness had then taken to his mind, and he could not hear the lovely songs of the seagulls, not the subtle whispers of the sea, not the eager shout of the wind that fought to bring the lost Elves home.

There are few Elves on the docks, and when it comes time to step out of the ship, Lindir prepares to leave the ship alone. He prepares himself mentally to be ready for eternity of misery. He prepares himself to be left alone. And it would be alright. He would do it for Elrond. Happily. Very happily. Yes. Of course. He would do anything for Elrond…anything but that! Surely his Lord is not so mean, so cruel, as to let him dream and sigh and  _feel_  how he does, only to leave him without anything. These thoughts plague his mind still, especially when he cannot even see his Lord. The little Elf feels stupid walking towards the docks alone, when everyone else seems to have company. Fortunately, before he reaches the end of the plank, a hand sneaks to take a hold of his, and Elrond walks by his side, clearly stressed and excited. And seeing his Lord so nervous, so adorable, Lindir cannot help but smile, and he once more is sure that he would do  _anything_  for his Lord. Therefore, when he sees the fair face of a certain Elven-lady, he lets go of Elrond’s hand. He still has not put his ring on, but as his Lord withdraws his own hand, he can see the wooden ring on. Elrond has the wooden ring on. The rosewood ring. Their ring.

Lindir has no reason to wonder what Elrond would see in Celebrían: she is comely, fair of face. Her locks are shorter and fatter than her mother’s, Lady Galadriel’s, hardly touching the shoulders. Her eyes match well with Elrond’s –full of wisdom and kindness, yet with a tingle of amusement. And longing. Oh! Lindir can read from that pretty face the longing and love the Lady of Imladris has felt during her stay here, he can see it from the way her long, fluttering dress follows her legs, he can see it from the arms thrown around his Lord’s neck, from the embrace filled with love from both sides. And he stands there, awkward and shy. For what is his part in this? Is he to leave, to stay? That question needs answers. As well does Celebrían need answers, as she sees the wooden ring on the index finger, as she sees the little Elf beside her husband. Answers would be given.

 

_Unforgivable._

It is what Celebrían first thinks, as she hears of what has happened. Unforgivable that Elrond would take another while she is gone! Alone she now sits, having requested time for herself. She can see the small, oh-so-small Elf, nervously pacing around, and Elrond, his gorgeous face grave and grim. Occasionally the little Elf, called Lindir, gives a hopeful gaze to her husband, her loved one.  Celebrían has no illusions: Lindir loves Elrond. Elrond loves Lindir. Celebrían has no reason to doubt that, and even if she has no such gift as her mother, she has enough sharp eyes to notice that from the little looks both give each other, the longing to brace whatever would come in each other’s arms. Yes, those two care for each other.

_But what is my role in here?_

Years, thousands of years, Celebrían has assumed Elrond loves her. Thousands of years she has loved him. He had fought hard to bring her back alive, to heal her, to keep her safe, when… _it_  happened. Thousands of years, and she still is not willing to talk about it! Nightmares are gone, shadows that change into living things have vanished, imagined malice has disappeared. She has healed, has found her joy in here –yet never had Celebrían felt complete without…him. And there he is, with the little Elf, nervous, grim, grave, thinking of his fate. Celebrían cannot push him away. It is not the years that she has waited that affect that situation as much as the honesty that Elrond speaks with.

_I care for him, I really do. And yet, Celebrían –please look at me- I love you as well. I care for you. I missed you._

_I love you._

_I love him._

_I love you both, equally._

_And I will not choose one over the other._

Bitter is Celebrían’s mind as she turns away from the window. That is what one gets when once she does not think for others, but for herself. Sailing had been bad. Would it have been better to endure the shadows in the House, in its vast Halls and in Elrond’s protective embrace? No! Celebrían is determined that she made no mistake –she had had to go. There would have been no peace, no harmony, nothing that could have helped her to endure the joyless, lifeless, cruel atmosphere of the Middle-Earth anymore. O, how mind can be so bitter! Celebrían hates it. She is torn to two. To be loved by Elrond, to know that she has to share that love, or to stay alone and cause unhappiness for the unforgivable deed he has done? Neither of them would be happy!

A knock stops Celebrían’s pacing around, and she opens the door. It is Elrond, without Lindir. At least that is good.

“I asked for time.”

“I gave you time.”

“I have given you thousands of years to return. Do not speak to me of  _giving time._ ”

Celebrían can see the surprise in Elrond’s face, produced by her bitter words.

“I could not return.”

The pain in his voice is evident.

“I could not return,” she answers. Elrond stays silent.

“You still love me.”

“You love him.”

“I love you.”

“It is not about that, you  _fool_!”

And Celebrían holds her hands to her head, trying to calm down, to clear her thoughts.

“Yes.”

“What?”

“I am a fool. A fool in love with you.”

“Elrond.”

The Elf-Lord seems to not care for her warning tone, but takes a step closer, opening his arms wide, waiting to see her response.

“Leave.”

And she can read disappointment and hurt in that handsome face, in those sad eyes, and Elrond looks defeated.

“You wish not to see me again?”  
“I will see you when I have been given enough time.”

“Celebrían?”

“Yes?”

“Do you—“

“Yes.”

“—I did not finish—“

“I love you, you fool. Leave now, go to your little lover.”

And she says it not meanly, but with softer tone, for her bitterness turns around. And Elrond understands, he nods and bows, and leaves.

And though Celebrían knows she will eventually forgive and join the two Elves in this madness, she will not be able to do it just yet.

But eventually, perhaps they could be all happy together.

She looks once more out of the window, to see a wonderful smile on Elrond’s face, a hopeful glint in his eyes. And that same hope seems to awaken in Lindir’s eyes, the same happiness as he is spun around by his Lord.

_And that same hope awakens in her, the hope that one day the bitterness will be melted down by sweetness, and that one day her dearest, her beloved, will have two Ladies instead of one._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everyone can imagine themselves what happened in the end, however they wish. But I like to think that Elrond has afterwards both of his Ladies (because Lindir is more Lady than Elrond) snuggling against him while sleeping in their extra large bed. And his only problem is to which one he wants to show his back to, and that is actually a big problem.


End file.
